WEDDED BY FATE
OR
SISTER ANGELA
BY
MRS. GEORGIE SHELDON
AUTHOR OF
“HIS HEART’S QUEEN,” “MAX,” “THE FORSAKEN BRIDE,” ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1890,
—BY—
STREET & SMITH.
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
—BY—
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
_All Rights Reserved._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
A Mysterious Applicant, 1
CHAPTER II.
A Narrow Escape and a Wonderful Experiment, 9
CHAPTER III.
Dr. Winthrop becomes Acquainted with Salome, 18
CHAPTER IV.
Dr. Winthrop Makes a Startling Proposal, 28
CHAPTER V.
A Romantic Wedding, 37
CHAPTER VI.
Salome Goes “Home,” 46
CHAPTER VII.
Dr. Winthrop Receives a Despatch, 55
CHAPTER VIII.
Dr. Winthrop is Summarily Arraigned, 64
CHAPTER IX.
Madame Winthrop Refuses Salome as a Daughter, 74
CHAPTER X.
Dr. Winthrop Receives an Imperative Summons Abroad, 84
CHAPTER XI.
A Startling Encounter, 94
CHAPTER XII.
An Explanation Demanded, 104
CHAPTER XIII.
“Your Marriage was Illegal; You are No Wife!” 114
CHAPTER XIV.
Salome Receives her Sentence, 123
CHAPTER XV.
An Appalling Tragedy, 134
CHAPTER XVI.
Dr. Winthrop’s Battle with his Grief, 144
CHAPTER XVII.
The Rochesters are Introduced, 153
CHAPTER XVIII.
Accident Disarranges Dr. Winthrop’s Plans, 162
CHAPTER XIX.
Mrs. and Miss Rochester Receive Startling News, 171
CHAPTER XX.
A Flight from War and Pestilence, 178
CHAPTER XXI.
Dr. Winthrop Passes through Deep Waters, 188
CHAPTER XXII.
An Appalling Discovery, 197
CHAPTER XXIII.
Salome Learns a Startling Fact, 205
CHAPTER XXIV.
A Backward Glance, 215
CHAPTER XXV.
Salome applies for a Situation, 224
CHAPTER XXVI.
Salome Learns a Bit of Miss Leonard’s History, 234
CHAPTER XXVII.
Salome Has a Startling Experience, 245
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Miss Leonard’s Illness, 248
CHAPTER XXIX.
Salome Loses her Valued Friend, 258
CHAPTER XXX.
Salome Becomes the Victim of a Vile Scheme, 269
CHAPTER XXXI.
Salome Witnesses a Heart-Rending Tableau, 278
CHAPTER XXXII.
Salome is Lured into a Trap, 288
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Salome Makes an Attempt to Secure her Liberty, 298
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Salome is Missed, 306
CHAPTER XXXV.
Harriet’s Search for Salome, 313
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Miss Rochester a Victor, 321
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Dr. Winthrop has an Interview with Miss Rochester, 329
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
The Winthrops and Rochesters Leave for Rome, 335
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Sister Angela again, 341
CHAPTER XL.
Tells how Dr. Winthrop Found his Wife, 347
CHAPTER XLI.
“My Wife, Have You Ceased to Love Me?” 354
CHAPTER XLII.
Explanations, 360
CHAPTER XLIII.
Salome Relates Something of her Previous History, 372
CHAPTER XLIV.
Salome Continues her Story, 382
CHAPTER XLV.
“It is All Right, my Darling!” 391
CHAPTER XLVI.
“Sadie Rochester is Already my Wife!” 401
CHAPTER XLVII.
“Salome, You Have Conquered Me,” 412
WEDDED BY FATE.
CHAPTER I.
A MYSTERIOUS APPLICANT.
One dismal day in November—a day when the sky was dull and leaden, when
the wind sighed and moaned mournfully, and, a fine cold rain that was
almost sleet was falling, a young girl, clad in a long, dark ulster, a
brown felt hat upon her head, her face concealed by a thick veil,
entered the reception office of the City Hospital in Boston,
Massachusetts.
Going directly to the clerk, who sat within a little box-office, she
asked:
“Can I see the superintendent?”
The woman eyed her curiously for a moment, then curtly replied:
“This isn’t visitors’ day, miss, and if you’ve come to see any friend,
calling upon the superintendent won’t do you any good, for we never
break our rules.”
“I have no friends here; I have not come to visit any one; I simply
desire to see the superintendent upon a matter of business,” the young
girl quietly returned, but with a certain dignity which appeared to
impress the clerk, for she at once rang the bell, and then bent again
over the book in which she had been writing.
Presently a man appeared.
“What’s wanted?” he briefly asked.
“Is the superintendent in his office?” the clerk inquired, without
lifting her eyes from her book.
“Yes.”
“Tell him there’s a lady here who wishes to see him.”
The man retreated after darting an inquisitive glance at the visitor,
and was absent about five minutes, when he reappeared, and by a sign
indicated that the girl was to follow him. Passing through a narrow
hall, her guide at length opened a door on his left, and told his
companion to enter.
“The superintendent’s in his office with one of the directors, but he’ll
be out presently,” he said, then vanished, closing the door after him.
The girl sat upon a chair near the window, turning her veil back from
her face, a heavy sigh escaping her as she did so. The act disclosed a
pale but strikingly beautiful countenance. The features were perfect,
clear-cut, and with the imprint of the patrician plainly stamped upon
them.
The brow was rather low, but full and beautifully shaped and crowned by
waving black hair, as fine and glossy as silk. A pair of great jet-black
eyes were shaded by long curling lashes. The nose was small and
straight, the cheeks delicately rounded, the mouth a marvel of
loveliness and sweetness, while the prettily rounded chin had a charming
little dimple at its base.
Her complexion was strangely fair for one who had such dark hair and
eyes, and this fairness was enhanced by the vivid scarlet of her lips
and the utter absence of color in her cheeks.
There was an expression of sadness in her eyes, and every now and then a
quiver of pain swept over her red lips and found vent in a deep sigh,
which plainly betrayed that she had some secret anxiety or trouble on
her mind.
She was rather slightly formed and delicate in appearance, yet there was
strength and vigor in her movements, despite the air of depression that
pervaded her attitude.
Presently a door, opposite the one by which she had entered, opened, and
a tall, rather awkward man came into the room.
He eyed his visitor with a keen glance, as he bowed courteously to her,
and then stood waiting for her to state her business.
She arose as he came forward, and, extending a slip of printed paper
toward him, remarked: “I have come to you, sir, in reply to this
advertisement for nurses.”
The man regarded her with surprise.
Her every tone and word and gesture betrayed culture and refinement—that
she had been delicately and even aristocratically reared, and although
adverse circumstances might have driven her to the necessity of working
for her own support, he wondered that she should have chosen the
laborious avocation of a common nurse.
“Have you had any experience in nursing?” he inquired, as he took the
slip from her and ran his eye over it.
“Yes, sir, although I have never been regularly trained. I had a—a
friend”—her voice faltered slightly over the word—“who was an invalid
for several years, and so I have had a great deal of experience in the
sick-room.”
“Hum—how old are you?” asked the superintendent, glancing sharply at the
beautiful face of his companion, and thinking that she seemed very young
for one who professed to know so much regarding the care of invalids.
A delicate flush arose for a moment to her cheek, as if she felt the
touch of irony in his question; but she replied with the utmost
self-possession:
“Twenty-one last month. I would like very much, sir, to become a trained
nurse, and that is why I have applied to you to-day.”
“You are slightly built—you do not look very strong, and I do not need
to tell you that it takes a robust constitution to endure the hardships
of nursing,” the man returned, as he regarded her curiously.
The girl straightened her lithe form with a movement that was replete
with energy.
“I know that I do not have the appearance of being very strong, but I
am,” she said positively. “I have had long and thorough training in
physical culture—I continue the practice of the various exercises daily,
and my muscles and sinews are strong and flexible as steel.”
As she concluded, she threw out her right arm with a movement which
showed that there was great latent strength in it for one apparently so
delicately built.
“You are quite pale, too—you do not look very well,” continued her
companion, without appearing to heed her statements.
“I am naturally pale—it is a complexion that I inherit; but I am never
ill,” she quietly responded.
The superintendent bent his head in thought a moment.
He knew that there was, in some instances, more endurance in persons of
her physique than in those more robust, and that they frequently made
better nurses.
He was greatly prepossessed by the quiet, self-contained manner of the
girl, and a certain reserve force which had made itself apparent from
the moment when she had first spoken, and he felt inclined to give her a
trial.
“We are in great need of nurses at present,” he said at length, “and I
think I will take you on probation, as the Methodists say—that is, if
you can come and begin your duties immediately.”
“I can come at once—I can remain now if you like, since I am entirely at
liberty, and I can send for my trunk by an express messenger,” she
answered with an undercurrent of eagerness that was somewhat at variance
with her previous calmness and self-possession.
“Very well. I would like you to remain. Is your home—are your friends in
this city?”
“No, sir,” was the brief reply.
Again the man glanced sharply at her. A certain sadness that seemed to
pervade her, together with the quiet dignity and self-possession of her
bearing, somehow moved him strangely, while it was evident from the
brevity of her last reply that she intended to guard her previous
history from all inquisitiveness.
“Your name, if you please?” he asked, seating himself at his desk, and
opening a book that lay upon it, although his eyes never left the
applicant’s fair face.
Again a slight flush leaped to her cheek at this question, and she
hesitated an instant before replying; then she said, quietly:
“Salome Howland.”
The superintendent wrote the name, together with her age in his
register, though a queer little smile played over his lips the while;
then, with his pen suspended over the next line, he continued:
“Your birthplace, if you please, and present place of residence?”
“I was born upon the Atlantic Ocean. My present place of residence
is—Boston,” she answered, without changing a muscle of her countenance.
Clearly she intended to keep her identity in as much obscurity as
possible.
Again that peculiar smile curved her companion’s lips, and it was with
no little eagerness and curiosity that he put his next question, for he
was becoming deeply interested in this fair stranger.
“You, of course, have the necessary references?” he observed, in a
matter-of-fact tone. “All nurses who are admitted here are required to
be well recommended.”
A flash of color leaped to her brow, and he could see that her delicate
under lip quivered painfully, while there was a moment of ominous
silence.
Then she turned and confronted him squarely, and lifted her beautiful
face appealingly to him, meeting his glance with her great black eyes
frankly and unflinchingly.
“That is the one weak point in my application, sir,” she said. “I have
no reference—no recommendation to give you. I am alone in the world, and
friendless—obliged to provide for my daily necessities. I came to you
from the death-bed of the only relative I had in the world.” She caught
her breath with a little sob at this, and the man’s heart was touched,
“and what I have told you about my abilities as a nurse is strictly
true. My personal character, I assure you, is above criticism;” this
with a proud uplifting of her small head that carried conviction with
it, and proved to her companion that she was no ordinary person, and
would scorn to do anything that would serve to lower her in the
estimation of others, or the esteem of herself; “But,” she added, “I
have only my own word to prove all this to you, and if such proof is
necessary, I can only give it to you by my daily deportment, during my
term of ‘probation.’”
It was a little out of order for him to receive a nurse under such
circumstances; but the more he saw of her the more interested he became,
and his curiosity to see and know more was excited.
Then, too, there was a certain ward in the hospital that was sorely in
need of nurses. He saw that she was intelligent, cool, and clear-headed,
with more than ordinary reserve force and self-possession, and feeling
confident that she was all she represented herself to be—though he had
some doubt that she had given her real name—he determined to waive the
strict letter of requirement, for once, and engage her without inquiry.
He completed the entry in his register, and then told her that she might
consider herself as engaged for a month upon trial; after which she
could be booked, if she gave satisfaction, as a regular nurse.
An expression of infinite relief swept over her face at this
information—a look which seemed to betray a sense of rest and security,
as if she suddenly felt that a safeguard from dreaded danger had been
thrown around her.
Her magnificent eyes lighted; more of energy and animation than she had
yet shown took possession of her, while the smile with which she thanked
the superintendent revealed two rows of the whitest and most perfect
teeth that he had ever seen.
“I hope she isn’t a coquette,” he mused with some anxiety, as he for the
first time realized the full power of her beauty; “for if she is, she’ll
be turning the heads of the male nurses and young doctors, and make no
end of mischief for us.”
But it was too late to retract now, and after settling a few more
preliminaries and assigning her to the ward wherein she was to serve, he
rose and told her to follow.
He led her from the office building, through the spacious rounds of the
hospital, to the main entrance, and thence to a ward in a large wing.
Then calling the head nurse of that department, he introduced the
novitiate and stated that she was prepared to enter upon her duties
immediately.
* * * * *
Salome Howland’s month of probation passed rapidly, and during that time
she endeared herself to every one with whom she came in contact. The
head nurse of the ward spoke in the highest praise of her. She had never
before had any novice, she said, so efficient—no one so intelligent, or
so thoroughly interested and enthusiastic in her work; while the
patients whom she attended grew to love the very sound of her footstep.
There was no one so gentle, so patient, and sympathetic as Miss Howland,
they affirmed—no one who had so bright a smile, such cheery comforting
words for those who were suffering and depressed; no one whose touch was
so tender and soothing, whose voice was so musically modulated, whose
steps were so light, whose service so willing.
“I am glad that you like her, and that she proves so efficient,” the
superintendent remarked when, at the end of the allotted month, he
sought the head nurse to ascertain if she was giving satisfaction. “I
should have been sorry to have sent her away, for she seemed anxious to
become a trained nurse, and somehow I feel deeply interested in her.”
“She is a treasure! She throws her whole heart and soul into her work;
if it will only last,” the head nurse added, with a sigh, as if she
feared it would not.
“Do you think she is quite well? she looks so pale, while she is not
nearly so robust as most of the nurses,” the superintendent remarked, as
his glance followed the movements of the girl, who in her pretty white
cap and apron seemed even more dainty and delicate than when he had
first seen her, in her felt hat and ulster, in his office.
She was moving lightly about the ward, with a free, elastic but
noiseless step, distributing the flowers that were sent up every day
from the conservatories for the patients, and he did not fail to notice
how every face brightened at her approach, and how fondly the glance of
every one lingered upon her; and surely, he thought, she was a goodly
sight for any one to look upon.
“She seems to be perfectly well and strong,” the nurse responded. “I am
surprised at times to see how strong she is. She looks delicate, I
admit; but her powers of endurance are wonderful, and she can manage
with as little sleep as any one I ever saw. She is remarkably
intelligent and practical too, both regarding her own health and the
treatment of the patients. She obeys rigidly the rules for physical
culture, is regular as a clock about taking her meals and her rest. Most
of the nurses complain that they do not get sleep and rest enough, and
are often dull and stupid upon being called to their duties. But Miss
Howland is always bright and fresh as a daisy. She says it is because
she never allows herself to talk or worry upon retiring, but wills
herself to sleep immediately. I believe her only thought or aim is, how
best to fit herself for her work, and I predict that she will make an
invaluable nurse, if——”
“If what?” inquired the superintendent, with some curiosity, as the
woman abruptly ceased.
“If some one doesn’t find her out, marry her, and take her away from
us,” responded the nurse, somewhat shortly, adding, “She’s far too
bright and pretty, let alone her goodness, not to be appreciated and
captured by somebody. The young doctors all make eyes at her, but she
never sees them—or pretends she doesn’t.”
“Modest—eh!” laughed her companion, while he also might almost have been
accused of “making eyes” at the pretty face that he was watching so
intently.
“Yes, almost to prudishness; but wait—the right one will come along one
of these days, then puff! away she’ll go, like a bit of thistle-down
upon the wings of the wind; it’s the way with all such treasures!”
The superintendent gave vent to a little laugh of amusement at the
woman’s quaint prophecy.
“I am glad you like her so well,” he said, and then went his way to
other duties, while Salome Howland was, for the time at least,
forgotten.